| I be down in lil Haiti, bagin a lil weezy and a lil baby
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| In a drop top Mercedes, I’m not what your used to
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| I’m a lil koo-koo, I’ll put this 9 on your head like a fucking bluetooth
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| And let the smoke from the Benz exhaust blend with
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| The smoke from the cough cuz that marijuana I’m smoking
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| Mary J what’s the 411, call guidos people I need 4 more guns
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| And shoutout to LL for no fucking reason
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| Cuz he the reason Def Jam was ever breathing
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| Number one, you niggas can’t fuck with son
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| Number two, new DJs don’t have a clue
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| Number three, to ever to be a real MC
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| You have to go back to '88 and battle Kool G
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| Then battle Cool Jay with Cool Herp judging
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| I’m the opposite of the levy in New Orleans, I’m not budging
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| Niggas talking bout they cars, nigga I got a dozen
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| You couldn’t see Game if you were Chris Paul cousin
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| While we talking 'bout cousin, if you was cousin
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| Then I’ll be blooding, so you still ain’t saying nothing
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| I’m coming outta customs, on the phone with Busta
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| Lil duffle bag boys, I’m swimming in trust funds
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| So trust that its fun, let ms. |
| white scholar (?)
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| And this white collar touch my ones
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| Jay got married, whatup b
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| I wish I could of threw the rice, just like salt to me
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| And I’m right where I ought to be
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| Across from Jack Nickolson nigga playoff seats
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| Whatup Bynum, how’s that playoff …(?)
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| Next time-out tell Kobe run the play-off me
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| Cuz I dribbled in hallways all day, did drive-bys in broad day
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| And I lost a homie in a car chase
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| Think I’m bullshitting, call Face, call Mase
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| I’m a ghetto boy nigga i grew up on Scarface
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| Call Nas, how that Cuban cigar taste
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| Ask about the homie Suge, I’ll blow the smoke in your face
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| Now wouldn’t it be gangsta if i knocked out the nigga that hit him
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| At the club throw up a motherfucking dub
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| Im an animal around these parts, I’m a cannibal around your heart
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| Hannibal chewing through cantaloupe
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| Couldn’t find a doctor I had to make my own antidote
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| Never detox and I blow it like Barry Manelope
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| Cali Cronic Purple Haze, twisting up a back wood
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| Thinking bout when I was running through 50s back woods
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| In Connecticut my etiquette was gangsta
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| Damn, I was right there when he dropped «Wanksta»
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| The good old days, smoking the good old jays
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| Rocking good old Jays, the nigga proof or the number fours
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| I like the number nines, them shits were hot in the summertime
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| Keep playing I’ll put your ass up under mine
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| The old Jimmy Henchmen, that’s my ratchet game
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| Welcome to Compton, corners call it baggage claim |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Baggage Claim , by - DJ Haze. Song from the album The West Coast King Lives On (BWS Radio Vol. 5), in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп